Forever I shall wait
by MissAnime111
Summary: It's the year 1940. The world is at war. Great Britain is in ruins. And Mary is in London. After painfully waiting for 30 years, Bert is determind to make her stay. But can the worlds problems and disputes seperate them forever - even if it means war? R&R
1. Prologue

**A/N: Okay, so this is my second MP story. I know this chapter is really short; I can assure you that chapters will get longer. This is a sort of introduction, so don't expect much action.  
><strong>**I have a very brief idea where this story is heading. I have a beginning and an ending, so it's sort of working out what exactly happens in between. O_o **

**Also I've written Mary and Bert so they don't age, so they haven't changed since 1910, as this fic is set years after...**

**Anyway, i'de like to thank everyone who reviewed 'Never been kissed'. They were so encouraging and lovely. Thank you :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Mary Poppins.**

Prologue

1940 Nov 14th

The heavens are alive, bombs dropping like giant hailstones into the earth below. The enemy dips and turns, throwing it's anger and hate in violent fury, sending it plummeting into people's houses, factories, streets and fields. Flames lick and spread against the broken ruins and smoke lifts high into the air, covering the sky like a thick, sooty blanket. Innocent people lie dead and useless on the streets, others are fleeting to the safety of their handmade air raid shelters.

One man is standing tall on a crumbling rooftop, his forever-youthful hands clenched tightly into a fist. He remembers a time when his evenings were spent dancing into all hours of the night, when rooftops were sweeper's territory. He remembers back when his best friend had left, and his world crumbled and turned to dust. He remembers long before Germany had declared war on the world and Great Britain went up in smoke; and somewhere in all that he remembers when he stopped smiling.

He chooses to forget the memories and stop dreaming. He stops believing in magic and fun; and tries to ignore that fact that he doesn't, and will never, age a day over 29. He doesn't laugh, and he doesn't need to. He doesn't draw any more either; he doesn't do anything that will remind him of _her_.

Yet he will still wait for her. Nearly 30 years after their last encounter and he was still here waiting.

He foolishly latches on to that teensy bit of hope that she will return someday.

And now London is on fire, and it's burning fast.

**What do you think? Should I continue? Please review :D**

**Next chapter: Mary's back O_o**


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The sirens are yelling, screaming; franticly warning the Londoner's about the horrors they are about to face.

Several bombs have fallen already, leaving smoking craters and dusty rubble lying scattered in the streets. The enemy is flying high and every so often the light given off from the fire, the moon and the explosives, anyone can just catch a glimpse of the thin, fast-flying, air crafts whizzing through the clouds and smoke.

Another shell hits dusty ground, hard. And another. Then several more explosives follow, crashing into houses and disrupting side walks.

Pretty soon the whole of the east-end of London is in flames.

It goes on for a whole night, like it has every other night in the past two months.

Later, when the sun is peaking up slowly from behind the ruins, and the enemy finally makes it's retreat into the clouds and away, the lucky survivors arise shaken from their shelters, weary and troubled from the events of the previous night.

Fire-fighters, police men, and random strangers help clear away the rubble, digging and searching for any survivors. A man walks a few feet away, sees the searching men and runs to help. It was number 7, Bakers Street, he realizes. A once tall, late Victorian terraced house that held a fairly well off household back in the day. He regularly came to sweep their chimney, the man thought. Good people, they were. Now he had no idea where they were, but their house now lay corrupt in the wreckage somewhere under all the bricks and dust. He pushes the sadness and pity from his mind, and lifts something that could once have been part of a bathtub out of the way.

One of the cockney civilians recognises the new helper, and wanders over.

"Oi, Bert. Ow are ya, mate?"

Bert looks up, and shrugs. "As good as it gets around 'ere, I guess." He takes off his beret and wipes his brow.

"Yer, but them Germans 'aven't gotten the worst of us yet. We're as tough as old boots, us Brits."

Bert stifles a smirk, and shakes his head. There were just some things that he's learnt not to dream for. He just takes things as they come, because most great things are gone as fast they came. So he's just left with the memories and pieces, and he locks them away into little boxes in his head and stores them in the farthest corner of his brain, never to open them again.

Soon they've cleared the whole area, and with finding no bodies, the men depart into the different parts of London, back to whatever place they can now call home. Bert stuffs his hands in his pockets and mooches back into the darkest, most dirty parts of the east-end. Most of the houses around him are just smouldering ashes now, and a familiar wind thrusts some dirt into his eyes, making him blink and cough. He opens his eyes and stares up into the grey sky. The air around him feels different, and for a second his heart starts up a steady drumbeat, a feeling that he hasn't felt in years. But the feeling vanishes almost immediately, leaving Bert feeling empty and disappointed. He knows that feeling, that familiar gust of air. A flicker of a memory arises and he uses all of his strength to push it back down again. Kidding himself now would end up breaking his heart all over again, he was sure of it.

A slight whimper from a nearby pile of plaster and brick brings Bert back to reality. He frowns, and edges closer. Another quiet cry from the rubble settles a tiny needle of panic and doubt in the pit of his stomach, and he's stumbling over the broken glass and plaster, lifting and throwing bits of brick aside.

"'Ello? 'oo's down there?" He breathes heavily, the dust and soot filling up his lungs and stinging his eyes.

A muffled 'help' emerges from somewhere beside him, and he digs in that direction, clawing helplessly.

"D-don't worry, I'll get ya out." He bites his lip, but carries on.

The whimpering has stopped now, and he panics. He doesn't know why, but he feels somewhat responsible for this stranger's life. Soon enough though, the person speaks.

"Oh, thank you so much, sir." It was sort of dry and muffled, but Bert identified that it was a woman's voice, a posh accent, too.

"Are ya... are you hurt?" He doesn't stop searching.

"My leg..."

Bert follows the sound of her voice, a silky, familiar voice; almost musical. He tries another spot, and only needs to lift one vast board of plaster to reveal the hidden victim.

He squints and lets his eyes adjust to the dark. When he finally sees the woman's face, he freezes.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no... Why? Why now?_

The woman is quiet, staring up at her rescuer in disbelief. He gazes back, shock written all over his features. For a moment the world seems to stop moving, the time seems to stop ticking, and several minutes go by before anyone of them say a word.

Bert swallows hard. Those memories that he tried so carefully to blank out for all those years come flooding back all at once, drowning his thoughts. He had tried so hard to forget her, to make out like she never existed. He thought he succeeded, and now here she is, dropping back into his life and it feels like no time had past at all. She hasn't changed one bit; those big, sapphire blue eyes that are staring up at him and those cute, rosy cheeks, those of which are now soot-stained and smudged with dirt. Yet it is her, all the same. He takes a deep breath and speaks.

"Hello, Mary."

**Ooooh so what's gonna happen now, huh? Haha **

**Please, please review; they are really encouraging, and help me a lot. So, yeah, if you could just be so kind? Yeah? Thanks a lot XD**

**Also I'm trying to think of a better name for this fic, so if anyone has any suggestions – hit me :)**

**Thanks :P**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay so this is chapter two – enjoy! Also I really hope that I haven't messed up everyone. Just hope they're in character O_o (Oh, and please don't forget to review) :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Simple as.**

Mary blinks. "Bert..."

She sort of chokes his name out, automatically bringing a slightly shaky hand up to pat her hair nervously, the dark strands that have escaped from her bun fall loosely around her face. She tucks one loose curl behind her ear and clears her throat, avoiding any eye contact with her unmistakeable rescuer.

Bert doesn't move, instead fixes his lips into grim, thin line. He feels like he might cry, or laugh, or both.

"It's, uh... been a long time..." Mary throws him a shy, almost guilty, look.

A stinging sensation makes his eyes ache, his head is spinning and his mouth feels dry. His gaze could burn a hole through her head.

When Mary doesn't receive a reply, she reluctantly begins to pick her own way out of the rubble.

Trying to regain any sort of dignity, she sniffs and says in her usual no-nonsense bravado that Bert knew so well, "This is all obviously very shocking, but really Bert, I do need to get out before anything is said or done. However I will say this, what's in the past is in the -"

Foolishly she moves her legs slightly, and only when she's doubled back in agony does Bert's hands fly out to help. He covers her hands with his, moving them aside and then lifting a vast plank of brick and plaster off her torso and legs in silence. Bert leans back while she tries to dust dirt off her coat.

He examines her right leg too, now it's uncovered he can see the real damage. He sees where her dress has ripped and risen up halfway up her thigh, revealing a bloody gash, not too far from her knee, and bruises the size of his fist. He would be turning beetroot red with embarrassment if the sight of her wound didn't erase any sort of shame from his mind.

"We need to ge' ya inside." He murmurs, more to himself than to anyone else. Searching his mind for ways of getting his old friend to safety, he haphazardly goes with the first remote thing that pops into his head.

Mary freezes as she feels Bert's strong arms close around her shoulders, lifting her up slightly.

"Bert, What do you think you're doing? Bert!" Fixing him with a glare, she swats him away forcefully. He doesn't protest, but looks a little annoyed.

He sighs, those dark circles under his eyes seeming more apparent. "Mary, I need to get ya to a better place and get ya cleaned up. If you'd just let me -"

She rolls her eyes skyward and looks up at him through dark eyelashes, "Honestly Bert, I do not need your help. I'm perfectly fine by myself..."

The last part comes out rather mangled as she attempts to lift herself up and put weight on her legs. Grinding her teeth in agony, she squeezes her eyes shut and bites her lip hard, the corners of her eyes wet with tears threatening to fall. Mary Poppins doesn't cry. Ever.

And she will _not_ cry in front of Bert.

Bert shrugs his jacket of and wraps it around her shoulders, looking her in the eyes. "Mary, please, just let me carry ya."

She glares at him but says no more.

Bert once again puts his arms around her, and this time she doesn't object. He gently slips an arm under the crooks of her knees and beneath her shoulders.

"Ready?"

Mary looks down at her cut and grimaces, but nods reluctantly.

Slowly he lifts her up, cradling her his arms like a small child. After shuffling over the bricks and plaster, he stands shakily. He realises how surprisingly light she is, how small and fragile she seems in his arms. Not at all the independent, free-spirit that is Mary Poppins.

Once down on the dry pavement, he looks around him. The sun is just peaking out over the ruins and buildings still standing, the early morning mist making it hard to point out just where they are. The small map that he has imprinted in his mind opens up, years of roaming the streets of London etched into his brain. He ventures out into the mist, pin pointing just were they are, and takes the road ahead of him.

The trip is silent, neither of them exchanging a word. Mary, who has grown quite comfortable in Bert's arms, realises that they left her carpet bag and umbrella back in the rubble.

"Oh!" She gasps, "I forgot my bag."

Bert looks behind him, and sighs.

"We have to go back!" Mary pushes.

He carries on walking. "Can't."

"Why not?"

"Too dark to see anythin' at the moment. We can go back la'er t'day."

She huffs but drops the subject for now. "Where are we going anyway?"

Bert looks shifty. "My, uh... Home."

"Oh?" Mary looks up at him, interested. "You didn't tell me were you lived."

"Brought it a couple of years back." He pauses, then says quietly, "You wouldn't know."

He looks sad, and Mary feels a twinge of guilt. It wasn't her fault that she hadn't returned for over 20 years. He certainly hadn't changed much in appearance, some dark circles under his eyes maybe; but his personality had slipped though, which worried her.

Soon they enter a street full of broken walls and fallen bricks, a nice street that could have once held a row of whitewashed terraced houses. A small fire is cindering of to their right, and Bert stops in front of a crumbling wreckage, or what looks like the side of a house.

His heart sinks. "Well, uh, this is it."

Mary's eyes widen, "Oh, Bert. I'm so sorry."

"S'ok, it's bin like this for while now." He steps over the flattened fence and makes his way around the back of the rubble into what used to be a back garden. Mary sees a handmade Anderson shelter built almost all the way into the ground, soil and grass piled over the top. Bert sets her down on the grass beside it, and unlocks the steel door. Once open, he gathers Mary in his arms again and squeezes the pair of them inside, lying her down on the small bed and flicking the light switch. A beside table sits in the corner, a steel kettle, electric toaster and various pots and pans lined up on top of it. A candle and a extra light bulb balance on a small stool beside the bed, and a tiny sofa covered with blankets and rags face her.

Mary shrugs the jacket of and unbuttons her coat, watching as Bert fetches a first aid kit out of a cupboard built into the wall. Things are quiet as he sets it on the side of the bed and clicks open the latches, opening the lid to reveal bandages, medicine, plasters and various other things. Kneeling over the side of the bed, he looks up at her.

"Can I see your cut?"

Reluctantly, Mary lifts the edge of her skirts and shows him the wound. It's not too deep, so Bert just dabs it with a cotton bud swamped with ointment gently. Mary colours when his fingertips touch her skin, and winces when the ointment stings the cut.

When the gash is cleaned, he wraps it with a bandage several times and snaps the box shut.

"There ya go. All clean." He moves to put away the kit and clicks the kettle on. Mary looks down at her bandaged leg and sighs.

"How long will it have to stay on?"

"A couple of days. It's just a scrape really, not very deep." He takes a seat opposite her on the sofa.

She lifts and eyebrow, "Are you saying I overreacted with this?"

He smirks a bit. "You could say tha'."

She tosses a blue stripy pillow at his head, and they both laugh for the first time in what feels like forever.

Happy in each others company, for the first time in 30 years.

**A/N: Okay, so how was that? The next chapter gonna be a bit of a deep discussion I guess, catching up from being 30 years absent.**

**So, yeah, please, please REVIEW! THANK YOU!**

**XD**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: And this is chapter three. Sorry it took so long. Thanks again for all the reviews btw! I promise you all that they are most appreciated :)**

Chapter 3

The happy moment doesn't last long.

"So what exactly have you been up to all these years?" Mary asks, carefully wiping away the dirt smudges from her face with a damp towel. "I see that your defiantly not a chimney sweep any more." She notes his undoubtedly cleaner clothes.

Bert stirs tea in two old, slightly chapped mugs with a stained tea spoon in silence. Mary places the towel back into the little water bowl and sets it beside her on the bed. She tucks loose hair behind her ears, and bites her lip slightly. She's never felt so awkward in front of this man before. It's as though they'd just met. She knows that she's always been a mystery to Bert, but never before has he been such a mystery to her before.

Bert hands Mary the brown mug and bends down to retrieve a packet of rich tea biscuits from the bottom drawer. She takes one politely and sips her tea, eyeing him steadily.

"There ain't no more sweeps around any more." Bert says, looking down at Mary. "There haven't bin for a long time." He settles into the squashy sofa and brings his long legs up, wrapping one arm around them and holding his mug in the other, hugging his knees to his chin.

Mary frowns slightly, "What have you been doing then?"

He won't look at her, instead fixes his gaze on the faded mug in his hand, deep in thought. She may as well not exist.

"Bert?"

She's worried about him, because she's never seen him so out of character before; looking so utterly lost and sad. While being away she knew that every year that she didn't return, it was ruining him. It was killing every little bit of hope that he had, every bit of trust he had for her.

She would kid herself, push the guilty thoughts away, and forget that even a wonderful, carefree, kind man like Bert has feelings.

And now she looks at the broken man in front of her, his blue eyes full of pity and sadness, and for the first time hates who she is, and who she has become.

Mary Poppins has never _really_ been lonely, never _really _known what it really feels like to hurt. Throughout her whole life, she has always been surrounded by people. People who love and adore her, who trust her with everything they have, because they've got nothing else to trust.

Up until now she always thought that it was only the children and their families who loved and supported her, but now she realises that it was Bert who trusted her the most. He trusted her enough to wait every time she would leave, believing that it wouldn't be soon until she would return again, and they'd replay their little charade all over again, having a few laughs along the way.

And now, she knew without a doubt, that trust has been shattered. Why should he trust her? After everything she'd put him through she shouldn't even deserve his help.

A slight sigh from Bert awakes Mary from her thoughts.

"Well when ya left, I suppose I hung around the Banks family for a while." Bert still doesn't meet her eye, but she grateful that he's even talking to her. "Y'know, kept an eye on them an' all that."

Mary smiles faintly, remembering her, perhaps favourite, charges.

"I kept on sweeping for a number of years, only stopped 'cause some bloke invented the gas fire." He rolls his eyes slightly, "I would 'ave bin glad if it hadn't put me out of business. I 'ad to move on to find other jobs. I did a few other things, like volunteer work in a small butchers shop. It didn't last very long. Got pulled in to do factory work for a while. Hated it. Couldn't stand working inside for all hours. I had to be outside at some point, had to feel fresh air on my skin. I was used to all that, y'see. I simply had to feel the wind. I needed to be the first to know when you'd return."

Mary feels her eyes prick with tears, and blinks them back automatically. She feels like her heart is tearing in two as she watches Bert stare down into his mug sadly. She can see the years of pain and remorse in his eyes, and decides that she deserves the stabbing pain in her chest, the feeling of a hard knife pressing down into her heart and making everything hurt.

She swallows hard.

"I guess I started to loose hope." He carries on, "I started to think that you'd never return. I ran out of the excuses, and soon accepted that ya weren't comin' back any time soon."

Mary leans forward slightly, her sapphire eyes pleading with him to understand that this is as hard for her as it is for him.

"But I always return," she exclaims. "You out of all people know that."

He looks at her sadly. "I 'ad to face facts." He tells her, "I 'ad to stop believing in fairy tales. We're too old for that. Both of us."

A knot of hurt settles itself in her stomach, and for once Mary feels hopeless. "Bert!" She says, shocked. "This... isn't like you at all. What happened to that funny, ridiculous young man I once knew? He one who would paint glorious colourful landscapes, the one who would dance on rooftops until all hours of the night? What happened to the man who believed in magic? I look into your eyes and there's not a trace of him. Bert? Please, I know what I put you through was horrific, but I'm back now, aren't I? We can go back to normal. Remember the old times, how it used to be?"

Though even as she says this, she knows deep down inside that things might never be the same again.

He smiles at her slightly. A sad, pitying smile. One that doesn't quiet meet his eyes. "Mary," He starts, and she can't quiet believe how different her name sounds from his lips. "I 'ad to grow up. I was living a fairy tale that didn't exist. I 'ad to wake up and accept reality. The cold, unmistakable truth that you weren't coming back."

Mary stares, frozen. Her eyes are wide and full of guilt. "Bert..." She whispers, "I'm... I'm so sorry... I... don't know what to say. You know I can't control where I will be next. I can't help it."

"'Ow do I know 'ow long you'll be staying this time? You come and go without warning. Sometimes I think that I don't mean anything to you. I'm just here to shower you with glory, when really I'm hurting inside and you're too perfect to notice. But no, I suppose you can't _help it_." There is nothing gentle and kind about what he said. He sounds grim, and Mary doesn't know what to say.

She doesn't know what to say because everything he said is true.

He hates her. She knows it. She can see that much in his eyes. And now it's killing her inside and she knows that she deserves every little bit of it.

Bert stands and drains his tea, checking his watch and shrugging on his jacket. "Should be lighter now," He says, "I'm gonna go fetch your bag an' umbrella."

Mary rushes to stand, "Well, let me come with you-" A hot pain shoots through her right leg and she falls back into the bed.

"You stay 'ere. Your not fit to walk just yet."

"I'm fine!" She protests, rather childlike.

Bert opens the door to the shelter, "I'll be back soon, just stay 'ere." He moves to walk out.

Mary frowns. "Bert?"

He turns to look at her, "Yes?"

"Why are you still here? In London, I mean. You could have left, made a fresh start." She asks pointedly, "You... you stayed."

He sighs, defeated, and shakes his head slowly.

"I didn't just stay," He say. "I waited."

Mary's eyes widen. The breath catches in her throat; hot, salty tears sting her eyes and threaten to fall.

Suddenly everything falls into place.

Bert throws her one last look; a bitter sweet, honest look, and closes the door softly behind him.

**A/N: So... sad. D: Anyway, please tell me what you think. And review? I would be great if you did. Thanks so much.**

**Till next time!**


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: ****First of all, I'm still alive XD**

**So sorry that this took so long, I've been really busy with school work and exams. GAHHH! Also I've had the dreaded writers block while writing this, so, yeah, that makes for the TEENY TINY chapter. But, never the less, I've got it done for you lovely people to read :) I'm ****also half way through chaper 5, so that should be done soon... hopefully...**

**So I hope you enjoy!**

**Thank you all so much for the reviews, and bearing with me, it means a lot. :D**

Chapter 4

Bert takes a deep breath and closes the shelter door behind him. He rakes a hand though his short hair and sighs. He needed to get out of there, that stuffy, awkward atmosphere that was drowning his thoughts and clouding his brain. He has no idea how he had allowed himself to get so emotional, because as far as he is concerned he hasn't felt anything in his heart for years.

He feels bitter and mean, and hates that even though he knows he still shouldn't trust this woman, he does. He knows he would still do just about anything for her. That trust returned the moment he set eyes on her, buried in all that rubble. He knows he could never fully dislike Mary, nobody can. She is the only thing he has left in this world and he never, ever wants to lose her. But he's pushing her way, trying to keep her at a reasonable length so he won't get hurt again, even though he knows that all he wants to do is fold her into a hug and never let go.

Taking the street that leads to the rubble, he slows and scuffs his feet on the pavement as his walks. His head is muddled with the clutter of the last 24 hours, half of which he is still trying to except. Mary said that things could go back to normal now, just like how they used to be. But doesn't she know that before she returned, before she unexpectedly appeared back into his life, unannounced and with no explanation, confusing things; doesn't she know that before all that _this_ was his normal?

Living without Mary, that is.

Eventually he had to make the present reality, and the past a dream. He had to make living life without Mary Poppins as normal as possible, which meant wiping out the memories, ignoring that little voice in his head, the voice that told him that Mary really was going to come back someday. That part of him believed in magic, in the impossible. He really did once believe in tea parties on the ceiling, and fox hunting in chalk drawings. He believed that you could tidy a room just by the click of a finger, or even dance the night away on the rooftops of London, and never, ever get tiered. Now though, he isn't quite sure.

And now he slowly makes his way through the corrupted streets of London, passing broken, crumbling piles of rubble that had once been tall, elegant Edwardian houses that had stood tall and proud, flaunting their beauty amongst the duller, much smaller, modern houses. He walks and, for a short moment, he's sure that he can see happier, younger version of himself, dancing and laughing and skipping through the streets, his old, scuffed dress shoes making a clopping sound against the old cobbled stones. His clothes are ragged and slightly torn, his hair is dark and matted, the darkened pole attached to a bristle clutched in one soot stained hand. And even though he looks a mess, his blue eyes shine brighter and more beautiful than ever. They reflect someone else, someone entirely different. They reflect a hopeful young chimney sweep, a man without a care in the world. They reflect a dream, a ghost of the past.

Or maybe they reflect someone who he once was, a long time ago. Maybe.

The young man skips away, fading away into nothing, disappearing in emptiness, leaving only the lowering mist of the early morning air, and the sound of Bert's own heart thumping heavily in his chest.

And suddenly, as if the ghost had awakened some lost emotion that he had hidden inside along with the forgotten memories and broken promises, he finds himself smiling.

**Soooo, review? Yeah? Uh huh? Thanks XP**


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